


destiny is the thing with shackles

by atomicmuffin



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Actual Shepherd!Chrom, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Drunkenness, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Family Feels, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, POV Chrom, POV Dumbass, Sleeping Beauty Elements, author avoids battle scenes like Covid 19, i swear this is not a vore fic, like. very loosely, no beta no edit no grammar we die like lunatic plus players, what is plot baby dont hurt me no more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24576556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atomicmuffin/pseuds/atomicmuffin
Summary: Everyone knows the story of the prince who was devoured by a dragon. Nineteen years ago, Prince Chrom of Ylisse and Princess Reflet of Plegia were born the exact same day. As a sign of good faith between their two countries, it was decided they would wed when they came of age. Four years later, after his wife died in childbirth, the Exalt broke the arrangement. In retaliation, the Plegian Witch-Queen cursed the prince to be eaten alive by Grima before his twentieth birthday, and the unfortunate princeling died three months later under Mysterious Circumstances.Not that any of this is related to Chrom. He’s just one normal guy trying to live his shepherd life in peace. Honest.A crackish Sleeping Beauty AU, featuring Chrom in the role of Totally Not A Prince, Miriel, Frederick and Libra as the Fairy Godmothers Squad and Robin as the Terrible, Awful, Not Good At All Prince-Eater.
Relationships: Chrom & Frederick (Fire Emblem), Chrom & Miriel (Fire Emblem), Chrom & My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Chrom & Riviera | Libra, Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	destiny is the thing with shackles

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is so messy. Plot, I dont know Thee. Oh, well, it be like that sometimes XD Take this fic seriously at your own risk. To be classified in the Deserve More Exploration AU But Will Never Get It From Me Cause I Yeet fics In The Void And Never Look Back' category. 
> 
> UNBETAED, i'll edit like. one day.

No one can run away from destiny. No shepherd, no knight, no prince has the power to escape from its claws and its shackles. It's the truth everyone knows, and it's the truth nobody accepts. No one can run away from destiny. Eventually, it can and it will catch you up and tackle you to the ground.

Eventually, it will eat you up.

Chrom's destiny caught up to him roughly like this:

"Tis a bad idea," Donnel says over his mead tankard. "Nay, it's a _calamitous_ idea."

Chrim finds himself smiling despite the rebuttal. Calamitous. Miriel truly has an… interesting effect on the local population, whether she intends to or not. Calamitous is a harsh critic, but Chrom can't blame Donnel for his lack of his enthusiasm. He's a very practical and reasonable person, while Chrom would unironically call 'we find the guys and we jump on them' a sound and foolproof plan.

"Okay, okay, but consider," Chrom argues, then realizes he actually said everything he had to say already. "Eh. I've got nothing. Those bastards are just pissing me off, and I'm tired of waiting for someone to save us."

To be fair, he _did_ try waiting. He waited for the responsible authorities to deal with the local bandits as it's their job. He waited while farms were burnt, families left without a penny or a roof, pride and decency trampled upon by mocking assholes. Chrom is just a shepherd, he needed to remind himself every day. He has no business taking the sword and kicking villains out.

"The knights-"

"It's been months, Donny." Chrom rolls his eyes. "How many times do we have to beg for help before we accept we're on our own, uh?"

So it's not fair to say Chrom didn't do his best, because he did. The things is, Chrom has little patience and little tolerance for oppression to spare in the first place. At that point, he's desperately running short of those. He's always terrible been at waiting, and even more terrible at waiting for justice to be done. So he's just going to do what needs to be done himself. Better ask for forgiveness than permission.

"I bet they're on their way right now!" Donnel cheers, because despite copious evidence of the contrary, he still believe in the virtues of feudalism as a valid protection system. "Just a few more days, ya'll see!"

Chrom pats the top of his head comfortingly. "They're not coming until someone dies. And even then, it would have to be someone _important_."

Like, for instance, Chrom. That'd be really, really funny if he did kick the bucket fighting bandits because the Capital couldn't be bothered to send a few soldiers to defend their own peasants. Tragic, especially for himself, but hilarious.

"You don't have to come with me, Donnel. I'll be fine, don't worry."

"Nay, I do, I really do," Donnel shakes his head mournfully. "Sir would kill ma if I let you go fight bandits on ya own."

"What Frederick doesn't know can't hurt us," Chrom says, very wisely. It's been his motto for a decade, and it served him just fine.

"Ma'am-"

"Don't worry, I've got it covered. I brought some hyper rare mushrooms from Feroxi from Anna a few days ago. Miriel will be so hyperfocused on studying them she won't notice a thing."

Donnel stares at Chrom pointedly before he slams the last nail to their coffin. "Mister Libra will be _disappointed_."

Chrom turns pale. He can live through Frederick's anger and Miriel's razor-sharp scolding. In fact, he does that quite frequently. Libra's disappointment, however, truly is a terrible punishment to suffer. The priest doesn't yell, nor does he argue. He just stares at his intended target with quiet disapproval, until his victim melts into a puddle of guilt.

"That's a good point," Chrom has to admit, shuddering at the prospect," but still. A man gotta do what a man gotta do."

"Aw, are you referring to the virility cult narrative we've been raised to believe in? Cause that's an awful reason to risk your own life, ya know?"

At that, Chrom blinks very, very slowly. "...Donny, you really need to stop spending time with Miriel. I'm worried for you, mate."

"Ma'am Miriel is a fountain of enlightenment," Donnel protests. Among the villagers Miriel occasionally gives classes to out of pure boredom, he's certainly the most fervent student. "Anyway. When are we leaving?"

Chrom's answering grin ozzles wildness.

.

In retrospect, perhaps attacking a dozen of seasoned bandits with a two men army, one sword, one pitchfork and plenty of youthful enthusiasm wasn't the best idea Chrom could have come up with. The wisest course of action would have been to help civilians escape while waiting for reinforcement.

On the other hand, the cloaked stranger who stepped in the chaos would most likely be dead if Chrom hadn't thrown Donnel's pitchfork like a javelin on the bandit coming for them in their back. What was Chrom supposed to do, just stand there and let the brave but reckless soul who carbonized a grown man to ashes with one sharp Thunder die in some backwater town because they had the gut to stand up against oppression?

"Wha-," the stranger, who is actually a girl, gasps under her hood. "Was that a _pitchfork_?"

"Have some respect, it just saved your life. You're welcome, by the way."

"And a tin pot," the woman deadpans, sounding very judgementél for someone who narrowly avoided being stabbed to death. "A _tin pot_."

"Sorry, miss," Donnel quickly retrieves his weapon from the guy's shoulder and tilts the edge of his improvised helmet in her direction. "Tis the best I could do on such short notice."

"That's. Okay. Thanks for saving me," she shakes her head incredulously, taken aback by the walking contradiction Donnel is. She won't be the first. "How many are you?"

"Just the two of us!" Chrom laughs like the lunatic he really is.

"You're kidding, right?... You're not kidding."

Chrom smiles brightly without betraying a hint of self-awareness. "Nope! We were coming to kick the bandits out, but it turned they were already attacking the town. And here you were! Funny coincidence, that."

"With what, your two men militia?" She says, rightfully skeptical. "No, two _farmers_."

"One farmer and one shepherd, please. And I never claimed to have neither an efficient brain or self-preservation instincts, miss. Tinhead guy is Donnel, I'm Chrom, if you were wondering."

The woman tilts her head to the side curiously. Under the hood, her eyes are quite sharp, a vivid shade of black, like the color of witching hour sky. "Like the dead prince?

"I guess? It's a very common name in Ylisse. I know at least five of us." Chrom points out, which is technically the truth. "What is your name?"

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD, BITCH!" the bandit snarls from the ground.

Chrom stares down at the man. He had completely forgotten he was still there, frankly. The woman casually steps over his solar plexus until the guy faints. Chrom might or might have fallen in love at that exact moment. He takes half a second to process this, before he decides to ignore it for the foreseeable future.

"I'm Robin. And I have a plan."

"That's very sexy of you," Chrom says, because he's an idiot. Since he's an idiot who knows better than to ignore smart people's advice, he adds: "I'm listening."

.

The good news is that Robin did have a plan, and to the surprise of everyone involved, it actually _worked_.

The bad news is that a fifth of the town ended up going down in flames. No one died, but still, it was kind of downer on their otherwise remarkable score. Plus, it makes it pretty hard to hide the fact Chrom threw himself in the middle of danger when countless eyewitnesses spread the tale of the shepherd who rescued their town from bandits, and was partially responsible for burning into to the ground. Allegedly.

"According to several testimonies, you were yelling, I quote," Miriel then glances at her notes and repeats in a monocord tone Chrom was definitely not using back then," " _Burn, motherfucker, burn_."

Libra's eyebrow raises. "I'm sorry I swore," Chrom diligently apologizes, because Libra's Disapproving Frown terrifies him. Also because he has a needle in Chrom's arm, and Chrom is emotionally attached to his limb, in addition to being physically attached to it. "The heat of the moment got the better of me."

Somewhere in the background, Robin snorts. Chrom has to bite back his smile. Finally, someone who's receptive to his top-notch humor.

"Is there something you'd like to add, Miss?" Libra says in a remarkable display of passive-aggressive politeness. He excels at those. It's a talent he unfortunately failed to pass on to Chrom.

"Oh no, not really," Robin quickly backpedals. If Chrom has any doubt left on the fact she was way smarter than him, those reservation would have been dissipated by her keen sense of self-preservation. "I'm sorry for intruding. And for the fire. And the horses. And Chrom's injuries…. thank you for inviting me in?"

No one points out they could hardly refuse her entry, considering she was carrying Chrom's half-dead body. After the arson incident, Robin understanbly panicked and, fearing to get lapidated by the local fauna, ended up dragging Chrom and Donnel out of the town to steal two horses and run away like the criminals they arguably were.

So yeah. Awkward.

Chrom tentatively touches his hip, where a gaping wound used to throb less an hour ago. Libra claimed he could only use his staff on some of Chrom's admittedly numerous injuries. Chrom was half-convinced he was getting sewn on as a punishment for the errors of his way. At least Libra numbed the terminal nerves of the area. He must still love Chrom, even if Chrom was a feral wilding who set cities in flames.

"As previously stated, the fire was mostly my fault," Chrom explains. "Thanks for saving my life, Robin."

"Thanks for saving mine," she retorts, softly.

Chrom looks at Robin. Robin looks at Chrom. They're totally having A Moment, until the door slams open and a murderous Frederick marches in, Donnel timitedly hoovering in his shadow. Chrom physically feels his soul withdraw somewhere deep under his ribcage to hide from Frederick's glower. It doesn't work.

"The city mayor accepted our apology, and our reparation money," he declares in guise of a greeting. Then, staring at Robin: "What are you still doing here, Plegian witch?"

Of course, Chrom has gathered Robin came from the other side of the border. Contrary to common belief, he isn't _that_ dumb. Her chanting accent said Plegia, her snow-touched hair said Plegia, the eyes sewn on her coat literally _screamed_ Plegia. If she was trying to remain inconspicuous, she was failing badly. This deep within Ylisse territory, Robin's otherness stood out like a sore thumb.

"My apologies, I have overstepped my welcome," Robin stands up. She doesn't seem surprised to get kicked out so fast. It does something unpleasant to Chrom's heart. "Thank you for your kindness."

"Hey, Robin, no, ignore him, he's a big meanie-"

"I beg your pardon," Frederick drily says, not sounding like he's apologizing in the least.

"Please stay," Chrom finishes lamely.

Frederick frowns, silently wondering where he did wrong with Chrom's education. And he didn't. Chrom was taught about Stranger Danger alright, extensively and numerous times. All his life, he's been told others were dangerous, that he needed to be careful, that anyone might hurt him, that staying lowkey was necessary to his survival. And guess what?

In the end, the one who hurt Chrom the most is Chrom, not some random stranger.

"I-I don't think-" Robin tries, peering at Libra, Miriel and Frederick.

Miriel and Libra remain silent, which coming from them is the equivalent of ringing endorsement. Frederick sighs, resigned to his fate. "I don't trust you, but you did save Chrom's life. I'll rely on his judgement, for now."

Despite this _literal exploit_ , wow, Robin seems to be hesitating still. Chrom has no other choice but to use his greatest weapon: the Puppy Eyes. Unlike his usual victims, she's unused to them, so it doesn't long for her to falter.

"Alright, alright, I'm staying for tonight!" She says, pointedly turning her face to the side. "Stop looking at me like that! What are you, a dog?"

Chrom clearly is a dog. He's stubborn, impulsive, loses his hair everywhere and doesn't like to wash. He's also loyal to a fault. He beams in a what he hopes is a roguish fashion."If I say I am, will you pet me?"

She doesn't even hesitate. "No."

"Aw. That hurt my feelings."

"We might have to neuter him after all," Libra muses. "It's sad, after all those years of good behavior."

Chrom cannot get away from him fast enough.

.  
.

Robin ends up staying for the night. And the night after. And the night after.

"You could just admit that you like it there," Chrom says as he puts a cup of tea in front of her. No milk, no sugar, no honey, just leaf water, or as she rolled her eyes at him when he questioned her poor life choices: 'the way God intended it."

"I'm helping with the town reparations. I'll leave when I'm done," Robin peeks at the tiny cot huddled near the fireplace, "unless you need the room, in that case-"

"You know we don't," Chrom cuts in before she can finish that nonsensical sentence. It's not like Robin takes any place at all. All she has owns be hidden under that large coat of her, in case she needs to bail out fast. "You're not getting out of this relationship so easily, young lady."

That careful, quietly awed expression she has is the unassuming air of those who have nowhere to call their home. Chrom is familiar with it.

"You're _impossible_ ," she groans over her cup, sounding astonished still despite the fact she has been acquainted with the mess of a person Chrom is for at least three days and one battle. "Where are you going so early?"

Instead of answering, Chrom opens the window and whistles. By the time he has filled the bowl by the table with fresh water, Liz has barreled in through the dog trap and is running circles around Chrom with endless enthusiasm. Emm walks in slowly, as dignified as ever, and comes rest her head on Robin's lap. Em clearly is the smartest habitant of this house.

"I got shepherding to do, obviously." Chrom says. He swats Liz away with his crook when she tries to bite the edge of his leather coat. He likes his coat too much to let be ruined by his feral beast of a dog. It was a gift from Libra when he first got his sheep from Donnel's dad, after months of arguing he would die of boredom if he didn't do _something_.

Robin smiles, her hand patting the top of Em's fluffy head. "You _really_ are a shepherd."

Chrom laughs. "You thought I was lying? It's not like we're hiding the sheep, you know?"

"Well not exactly _lying_ , per say."

"Delusional then?"

"Frankly, the thought crossed my mind once or twice," she grins.

"Hey, you weren't supposed to agree," Chrom says, though he understands why she would doubt his word. Chrom doesn't really look like the usual farmer's son. His guardians hardly looks like the usual farmer family either. "Wanna come? Check for yourself I have no been deceitfully inflating my farm boy creds."

Robin blinks up at him, then at the window. "Sure, why not."

Uh. Look at that, his half-baked scheme to spend some alone time with Robin actually worked. Chrom hadn't expected to get this far. "Oh, really? Let's go, then!"

Liz leads the way, Em trotting a gentler but as determined pace behind her sister, and so onward dogs, sheep and men go. Early morning sunshine sets the golden eyes embroidered on Robin's sleeves ablaze, white strands shining like untouched snow under a cloudless sky. She looks… content. It's a good look on her.

"Mornin' Chrom, mornin' Miss Robin!" Donnel waves when they pass by the Tinhead's farm.

"Morning, Donny!"

"Good morning, Donnel." Robin mimics tilting an invisible hat in greeting. "Robin is fine."

"Robin sure is." Chrom winks, and only manages to dodge her hand because she allowed him to, in her infinite benevolence.

"Guess you all healed up," Donnel shakes his head at his antics, chuckling.

A pang of guilt throbs under his chest. Allowing Donnel to come with him might not have been a very good idea, in retrospect. If Chrom wants to play with his own life, that's his business, but Donny is a good lad with his whole life ahead of him.

"As good as new." With a new scar on his arm. Not that it matters, Chrom never exposes his arms anyway. It's the shy maiden in him. "Bye, mate."

"Have a nice day!" Robin waves as she trots behind the Chrom & Sheep unit. Her lips curve into a gentle and bittersweet smile. "It's kinda funny. I have crossed the path of so many shepherds leading their flock before. I have never thought I'd be one of them."

Chrom nudges her flank with the curved end of his crook. "Here. Now you're really one of us."

Her eyes light up when she tentatively grasps the crook. "Oh. Thanks."

"Don't thank me for fostering my work on you, haha!"

"One day, I'm going to beat you to death with that stick."

Chrom laughs delightedly. "And what a glorious way to die it would be."

.  
.

It becomes a thing, Robin and Chrom skipping together to the wild field every five mornings, just the two of them, two dogs and two dozens of sheep. It's peak romanticism, clearly. Frankly, Chrom is astonished she stayed long enough for them to work out a routine of sorts. People with wanderer eyes like hers have lost the habit to to stick to one place. Though perhaps runaway eyes is a more accurate description of the wariness laying restlessly under brown orbs.

But she lingered in their secluded corner of the world, somehow making her place in their household full of secrets and fears. Chrom would like to believe his natural charm was responsible for her change of heart, but he's not that foolish yet. Robin has nowhere else to go, and her feet are tired.

It's as simple as that.

"Wanna train today?" Chrom pips up once his sheep have gathered around the field.

Sometimes they talk, sometimes they let time wash over them in contemplative silence, him carving wood figures, her reading books, both of them watching clouds and sheep roam their respective world. Ever since she was invited to, Robin has been devouring Miriel's extensive library, to the mage's quiet excitement. They discuss whichever book Robin managed to read at god's speed every evening, while Chrom and Libra washes dishes and Frederick stares suspiciously at the 'Plegian Witch' during his weapon care routine.

And sometime, sometimes they _fight_ , and it's by far Chrom's favorite moment of the week. Robin is a strong and smart opponent, quick on her feet and quicker with her magic, absolutely ruthless without any damn to give about chivalry, and most importantly, she's _not Frederick_.

It's not that Chrom has anything against Frederick's educational skills, far from it. His whole life, Chrom has been training with the taciturn knight. One of his earliest memories is of his mentor, barely over sixteen back then, patiently teaching his charge fighting stances. For a while, before Libra was send by his sister, and later Miriel to tutor Chrom on more advanced subjects, it was just the two of them. A brilliant knight demoted to mere peasant, and the burden he had to sacrifice his dream for.

At least with Robin, Chrom isn't hindered by massive guilt. Robin, unlike Frederick, Libra and Miriel, can leave Chrom whenever she feels like it. If she's still here, it's because she _wants_ to.

Robin hides a yawn behind her gloved hand. "Not today. If you don't mind, I think I'll catch up some rest."

"There are better places to take a nap than the ground, you know?" He smiles fondly. "Go on. I'll keep watch."

"For what?" Robin mumbles under her coat as she nests herself into a bundle of dark, purple and golden.

Thieves. Bears. Wolves. Nightmares. Dragons. Any danger that might come, Chrom will deal with it, or he will die trying.

Or he'll die trying.

It's Em that alerts Chrom of the danger. The usually quiet dog barks twice, immediately putting Chrom on edge. She's staring at the distance, her ears pinned back, her tail standing still.

Somewhere in the horizon, where the village lies, tendrils of dark, angry smoke are climbing up.

"Robin, wake up. I think those fuckers are back."

.  
.

Chrom wasn't raised to follow.

From the moment Chrom was tall enough to reach Frederick's waist, the knight took his charge under his wing and put a wooden sword in his hand. Chrom lost count of the hours he spent training with the mentor he idolized more than anyone, trying to mimic his movements, to become just like the strongest man in his world.

From Frederick, Chrom learnt discipline, perseverance and honor. But the knight didn't teach Chrom to obey and kneel.

Libra joined them when Chrom was six, still wide-eyed and easily impressed. A youthful monk as beautiful as a princess, tranquil like a lake in winter, a strength wrapped in gentleness. Even still, Chrom wouldn't describe himself as a religious person, but Libra's love for humankind and for his goddess touched his soul in a way few things did.

From Libra, Chrom learnt faith, kindness and forgiveness. But the monk didn't teach Chrom to bend and break.

Miriel arrived just after Chrom passed his tenth birthday, her hands marked by ink stains and fire burns, her face expressionless and her eyes wise. She was to tutorate Chrom in subjects Libra and Frederick could not, and tutorate she did. From geography to politics passing through court manners, war strategy and history, Chrom went through it all.

In the end, none of that really mattered in comparison to the most important Miriel taught her only student: to _think_. From Miriel, Chrom learnt reason, work ethic and moderation. But the magician didn't teach Chrom to cave in and submit.

Really, Chrom wasn't born to follow, and he wasn't raised to follow either. Yet, under Robin's instructions, he _thrives_. It's easy to listen to her voice and follow along. If she says to fight in this corner, Chrom goes to fight in this corner. If she says to switch his sword for a spear, Chrom switches his sword for a spear. Chrom is an obedient little puppet with a blunt toothprick dancing to Robin's tune, and he doesn't even mind.

Chrom, he realized belatedly, trusts Robin, with his life, and more importantly, with the lives of those he loved.

And, to his everlasting amusement, he isn't the only one.

"Dangerous, suspicious, unworthy of trust, you said, " Chrom recalls gleefully like the little shit he is. Frederick pointedly ignores him, but that never stopped Chrom before."The plegian witch, here to slaughter us all in our bed, you said."

"I said no such a thing," Frederick can't help himself from correcting Chrom's artistic liberties. He might not have said those words exactly, but the sentiment was there. "Shouldn't you focus less on gloating and more on repairing?"

"Hey, gloating is the best. Everyone loves a good gloating, and after weeks of enduring your paranoia, I deserve mine." Still, Chrom hammers down a nail on the door. It may or may not to be broken because Chrom slammed a bandit against it hard enough to crack the wood. "I won't stop until you acknowledge Robin is a good person and she should stay."

"You already decided she would stay shall she want to," Frederick says, drily. "I fail to see how my input is required."

"Come on, you can say it. Robin is not an evil plegian witch. There, it's not that hard."

"I'll admit her tactical skills are… unparalleled, and that without her help, the damage to the village would most likely have been far worse."

Understatement of the year. Robin took in charge complete chaos, and managed to make a counter-attack out of it. Even Frederick followed along. She was _amazing_.

"Still. The fact she's so well versed in warfare only serves to prove my point…"

" _Frederick_."

He smiles thinly. It's a tiny thing clinging to dry lips, a drop of water in the desert that is Frederick's emotional awareness. "I am, as you branded me yourself, Frederick the Wary. It is my duty to protect you from harm, and I will keep doing so. Even if you end up hating me for it."

Now that's just unfair. Chrom can't gloat with Frederick pouring out his feelings on him out of nowhere. "I don't hate you. I don't think I can. I'm just tired to live in fear, you know."

Frederick pauses to reflect on that. "Yes. I know."

"Which is why," Chrom declares as he stands up on his feet, "tonight I'm going to our Thank Naga We're Not Dead party, and I'm definitely getting wasted."

Frederick blinks. Chrom falters in his resolve. Frederick's No You're Not blink is very powerful. Time for compromises. "Tonight I'm going to our Thank Naga We're Not Dead party, and I'm definitely getting tipsy?"

"... that's acceptable."

.  
.

The story goes like this: once upon a time, in the country blessed by Naga herself, a prince was devoured by a dragon.

The legend says the Queen gave birth to her second child during the night of the winter equinox, and that the prince took his first breath at midnight exactly. On the very same night, deep within the desert, a princess carrying a dragon's heart took hers. That coincidence was enough to interest both royal families, especially the two Queens. The prince's greenland and the princess' golden desert had been at war for several generations, and the temporary truce between their two kingdoms was shaky at best. As a sign of good faith, it was decided they would wed when they came of age.

Four years later, after his wife died in childbirth, the Exalt broke the arrangement. In retaliation, the Witch-Queen of the desert cursed the prince to be eaten alive by Grima before his twentieth birthday, as civilized people do. Less than three months later, the little prince, who wasn't even five yet, died. The exact circumstances of his demise remain unknown to this day. Some claim child fever took him, other that it was a poisonous desert snake hidden in his bed. A few even dare to say the Exalt murdered his own son to manufacture an excuse to attack their neighbour.

The most popular version was and still is to this day that the prince was eaten alive by a dragon. Chrom himself favors it. There is a certain irony in it. Indeed, the prince was born of Marth's line, and carried Naga's brand on his very skin, therefore, he was as close of dragonblood a human could get. It's funny he would end up gobbled down by his own kin.

Beware the dragon, parents said to their children. If you're not nice and obedient, Grima will come and eat you up. Frederick never resorted to those threats himself, but Chrom heard them all the same from other children. Beware the dragon, little one. It's old and wise, as ancient as Naga herself, and it knows no mercy nor kindness. Beware the dragon, for it has claws and teeth and a hunger only innocent meat can satisfy.

Beware the dragon. It will find you. And it will devour you.

"There is no dragon here," the dragon says, sounding amused. "You're just drunk."

He is. Completely wasted. Doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's saying.

"Yes, it does. That's what being wasted means, actually." The dragon pats his head soothingly. Her claws are gentle, gentler than destiny's. "You just had like, half a mead. How are you so intoxicated?"

He's laying on the dragon's lap, helpless and giddy and melancholic, a feast ready for the taking. Everything is blurry where he stands, the stars, the moon, his dragon's face looming over him, his thoughts.

"I neve' drink," Chrom slurs. "Alcohol's the true warrior's enemy."

"I know plenty of mercenaries that would beg to differ. According to them, alcohol is an unavoidable part of the warrior's lifestyle."

"Mercenaries ain't Frederick the Wary."

She laughs, her voice rich like the desert. Her fingers run across Chrom's hair slowly and carefully, like she's trying to catch every strand. "True enough."

Chrom laughs too, just because she did. He wonders if the sky looks like this from Yssitol, old and new and big and. Maybe Emmeryn and Lissa are watching it too. He tries to picture it, two blonde girls in princess gown under the starry night, but they are just as blurry as the rest. Lissa was only a baby when Chrom left the castle. He doesn't even know how Emmeryn looks like anymore.

"Say, Robin? If you ate me, where would you start?"

"I wouldn't eat you, Chrom." Her nose wrinkles in distaste. "That's so unhygienic."

He barks a laugh. _Unhygienic._ She said that like Miriel would say unscientific. "Okay but. Hypoti..hypotha...Imagine. Like. The leg? The arm? I got great arms."

"I wouldn't know, it's not like I ever seen them, mister I Always Wear Long Sleeves."

"Ah! You're just jealous of my awesome coat, miss I Always Wear Gloves."

Her hand stills in the middle of a caress. "..touché."

"I think… you would eat my heart first." He muses. "That's how it always goes in stories, doesn't it?"

Fickle creatures, those hearts. They get so easily stolen. From stolen to devored, there is only one step in-between.

"No one is going to eat your heart, Chrom," the dragon lies, and what a pretty lie it is. "Legends are just legends. They can't touch you if you don't let them. Just go to sleep. I'll keep watch."

Chrom allows himself to doze off, lured to sleep by his own doom. It's funny, in a way. Everyone knows the story of the poor princeling who got devoured by a dragon. No one ever tells the story of the prince who threw himself in the dragon's mouth willingly.

"Night, Robin." He mumbles to the dragon and the stars.

The dragon grins a toothless smile. "Good night, Chrom."

**Author's Note:**

> and then there were so many unanswered questions but look at the time I really gotta go and oops I'm gon-


End file.
